LOS Book II: Shadows of the Future, Ch3
by TheHall
Summary: Shadows of the Future continues the Legacy of Shadows storyline in the year 2032.


9

**The following is a work of fan fiction. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit will be made by the author.**

Collinwood in the year 2032. Barnabas Collins has traversed the stairway through time, delivering him from his own year of 2002 to this strange, dark, and menacing future. Here Charles Collins, son of David Collins, rules over the estate. His young son, Jacob is dying. The Great House itself has achieved sentience with the assistance of computerized systems. Unbeknownst to Barnabas, however, several friends from his own time exist as prisoners on the estate… as well as one dark enemy… a vampire. As these events transpire in the future, however, Quentin Collins fights for his very soul… in a dangerous game of chance… in the very pits of Hell…

_**Sons of the Shadows: Legacy of Dark Shadows, Book II**_

**CHAPTER III**

Barnabas Collins stared in disbelief as the yellow eyes of young Jacob's 'dog' glared at him… knowing eyes showing clear signs of recognition… and desperation…

"Did you say your dog's name is… Stone?" Barnabas asked his young friend.

"Yes, he's been with me all my life," Jacob stroked the large animals back, the dog returning obvious affection for him… confusing Barnabas all the more.

Just then, Charles Collins called from the window of the Great House, "Jacob, time to come up for dinner…" At the sound of the elder Collins, the dog's nature changed instantly. It looked toward the house and snarled menacingly.

"Stone!" Jacob scolded the dog, "You'll have to excuse him, Cousin, Stone doesn't care for father much for some reason."

Barnabas reached down and examined the electronic collar around Stone's neck, "Could it be that your father is the one who attached this collar to him? A dog such as this needs its freedom." Barnabas stroked the animal, making eye contact with him once more.

"Yes, sir, I agree… but Father had no choice really. We couldn't keep him out of the tower. He had some kind of fascination for the tower room and kept clawing to get in there." The boy pointed to the top of a wide concrete column bursting from the very heart of the Great House.

"The tower room?" Barnabas's curiosity was piqued once more, "What do you suppose he wanted there?"

"I couldn't say, sir. Father says it's only a storage room. Perhaps he smelled some mice or something living in there."

"Or something…" Barnabas repeated as he looked up toward the tower turret at the center of the Great House.

With the sunset, she was once more free to leave her coffin. She inhaled the damp night air into her long-dead lungs. She ran her fingers delicately along the edges of her ornate black coffin. She remembered the first time she'd awakened in it. The first person she'd gone to see was her brother… then the hunger hit her for the first time. It was clear what she'd become… she'd known before her death that it would happen. Ever since the first time she'd been bitten… she knew what her eventual fate would be. Her brother protected her, though. He'd promised to always protect her… he and all who followed him. With his connections in town, he'd been able to supply her with fresh blood on an almost nightly basis. He had such pity for her… he would do anything for her.

Before his death, however, he had become quite insane. He'd come to her one night and ordered her to remain in her coffin forever. They'd fought so that night. The following dusk, she discovered how serious he had been… she was chained in her coffin. For so many years she spent every night pounding on the box, screaming… slowly shriveling to a mere shadow of her former self. The secret of her had apparently died either with her brother or with someone shortly after him… for no one returned for her. She had been so hungry for so long… but never dying.

Over time she stopped trying to open her coffin. However, since she'd been hidden deep in the cliff corridors under the Old House, the salt air eventually ate its way through the coffin's metal chains… and one day… on a fluke… she pushed her coffin lid… and it OPENED. Her vampire eyes allowed her to see everything within the dim chamber. Had she had a reflection, she would have seen the shriveled form her body had become… nothing but bones and rotting flesh. Her once beautiful blonde hair was gray and ratted. She had been imprisoned for so long, she was no longer sure who she was… or even _what_ she was.

She'd made her way to the beach… and eventually into town. As the sun began to peek over the horizon, she found shelter on a large, iron merchant vessel. When she woke the following night… she was at sea. After feeding on the entire crew, her immortal beauty came back to her once more. Her soft porcelain skin and flowing blonde hair made her feel almost… human again. Her final victim on that voyage was the ship's captain. She made him return to Collinsport with the promise of sparing his life… a promise she had no intention of keeping! After all, what had men done for her? Betrayed her trust! Driven her insane! Made her a demon! Imprisoned her in a small box! She had no more empathy for men! _May they all burn in Hell!_

She took a deep breath again… although the action was one of mere mimicking… second nature. Now she was fine… she could feed as she needed… she was back in the Old House she loved so much. Now the man who had made her this way was within reach… and would need to pay once and for all! _Cousin Barnabas,_ she thought to herself, _I hope you haven't forgotten me… your dear cousin… Millicent._

Dinner at Collinwood had been much more quiet than had breakfast that morning. Charles seemed distant… almost at a loss for words. Barnabas saw nothing of Willie, and young Jacob seemed to know that his father was not happy with him. Afterward, Charles had excused himself early. Barnabas took the opportunity to tour the Great House for himself. He climbed the stairs to the Tower Room. Once he reached the landing, however, the computer startled him…

MAY I BE OF ASSISTANCE, MR. BARNABAS?

"Just touring the House, Computer."

I AM AFRAID THAT THE TOWER IS OFF LIMITS, SIR… BY ORDER OF MR. CHARLES COLLINS.

"Really," Barnabas was hardly surprised, "May I ask 'why'?"

I AM NOT AT LIBERTY…

"Of course… not at liberty to disclose… I understand." Barnabas turned and started to return to the staircase. "Computer?" He continued.

YES, SIR.

"The dog outside… Stone?"

There was a distinct hesitation before the computer responded, YES?

"Where did it come from? It seems to be quite the rare breed."

I AM… NOT CERTAIN.

At that, Barnabas stopped and responded harshly to the computer, "Yes, you are! Why are you lying to me, Computer! Are you programmed to be dishonest?"

No hesitation followed this inquiry, IF I WERE… WOULD MY ANSWER NOT BE THE SAME AS IF I WERE NOT?

Barnabas could not help but chuckle, "_Touché_! Answer me this, then, Computer… has that 'dog' always been a 'dog'?"

With that, the railing on which Barnabas had been leaning as he descended the stairs toward the second floor landing became unbearably, indescribably… hot. He moved his hand quickly, looking to see what the source of the heat had been. There… on the wood railing itself… letters began to appear: N-O-I-T-H-A-S-N-O-T.

Barnabas's heart raced with this new information. The House did want to answer his questions… and was now prepared to disobey its master to do so. Barnabas looked around at the halls around him and nodded his head as a 'thank you' to his new ally.

"I believe I shall retire for the night, Computer." Barnabas would have to carefully plan his next move… and a good night's sleep was necessary for that.

OF COURSE, MR. COLLINS. YOUR ROOM IS PREPARED.

The next day, he would press young Jacob for some direct answers of his own… even if it meant a _quid pro quo _concerning his own past…

Quentin wasn't sure how long the game had been going on. A night? A thousand nights? All he knew was that little had changed. He would amass a considerable amount of winnings, only to lose them all again. It was becoming clear that this game was rigged… that both he and Beth were playing, not for Quentin's freedom, but for their host's amusement. But what choice did they have? The second the game was over, if Quentin was not the victor, both he and Beth would be consigned to Hell for eternity.

_But isn't this continued charade a form of Hell itself? _Quentin thought to himself.

_Come now, Quentin, my boy, _the unseen host bellowed telepathically to Quentin, _I thought you would enjoy a good game of chance… and to see your old love again…_

"Why are you doing this?" Quentin asked the nothingness, "Do you honestly gain some entertainment from watching a game you control yourself? What's in it for you?"

_Perhaps I just want to see how long you're willing to go along…_

"No," Quentin was beginning to understand, "there's something else…"

His revelation was met with silence.

"You've set me against my oldest enemies… and given me as a partner a woman I loved very much… but none of them are acting as themselves… they're mindless automatons acting as you wish them to…" Quentin put down his cards and stood up. "Show yourself… or send me on to Hell… if you can…"

At once the table, the chairs, the players, everything disappeared. Once more Quentin stood in the white emptiness of whatever hellish dimension he'd surrendered to. Immediately, however, he was joined by a short man… an unassuming, balding man in a fine suit. Though it had been many years, Quentin recognized him immediately…

"BEST!"

_At your service, sir… _He continued to speak telepathically.

"Where am I? Is this another one of your games?" The demon entity known only as 'Mr. Best' had made a deal over a century ago with a woman Quentin loved very deeply.

In 1897, Quentin had met the famed artist Charles Delaware Tate. Tate had been given supernatural artistic ability by the villainous Count Petofi. Those abilities had allowed him to provide Quentin with a 'Dorian Gray' type of portrait which spared him his werewolf curse. However, they had also given Tate the ability to create life. Any person he imagined onto a canvas came to life. One of those creations had been Amanda. When Quentin and Amanda had gotten separated back in that distant century, and her time to die had come, she'd made a deal with Mr. Best, to give her seventy years to find Quentin. She succeeded… barely. Because he was so enamored of her, Best gave her a chance to escape death permanently… sending both she and Quentin on a maze-like journey from the realm of death back to the world of the living. There was only one catch… they could not touch until they'd reached the land of the living. Very near the end of their journey, they failed. Quentin lost Amanda that night… and had not seen Best till this moment.

"Well!" Quentin's hatred flared.

_I would think you would be very happy to see me, Mr. Collins. After all, I am now all that stands between yourself and an eternity of torment…_

Breakfast at Collinwood was surprisingly quiet. Young Jacob was nowhere to be seen. Charles sat quietly, reading from a plastic pad in his hand. Barnabas found his plate waiting for him… with no sign of the unnaturally surviving Willie.

"Good Morning, Cousin," Charles said nonchalantly, not even looking up from the pad in his hand. "Morning paper?" He waved the pad slightly, still not looking up.

"I was hoping to spend more time with young Jacob this morning." Barnabas sat and ate. Though he strongly distrusted his 'cousin', he had to keep up his strength. _Besides_, he thought, _if Charles wanted to kill me, he could do so any time…_

"I'm afraid Jacob isn't feeling well. He will be staying in his room for the day." Still… he did not look up.

"I'm sorry to hear that… perhaps I could look in on him later…"

Finally, a glance. Charles looked up from whatever he was reading from the pad to lock gazes with Barnabas, "I don't think that wise, Cousin… he's a very ill young man… he needs his rest. I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to respect my judgment on that."

"Of course," Barnabas sipped his coffee and quietly ate his breakfast… no more words passing between the two senior Collinses.

After breakfast, Barnabas made his way back down to the Old House. He had a theory concerning the 'New House', and his theory was met with satisfaction on entering the familiar confines of the monstrous recreation.

"House?" Barnabas called into the air…

YES, MR. BARNABAS?

"Am I speaking to the same program that runs the Great House?"

There was a pause…

COLLINWOOD IS COLLINWOOD, MR. BARNABAS…

"Yes," Barnabas smiled, "I'd somewhat hoped that was the case."

MAY I BE OF SERVICE TO YOU?

"You may…" Barnabas knew he had to word his questions carefully in order to get the answers he needed, "Do you recognize Mr. Charles as the master of this house?"

THIS HOUSE IS PART OF THE ESTATE OF COLLINWOOD…

"True, but does he 'master' all of Collinwood?"

YES

"What about the mausoleum of Elizabeth Collins-Stoddard? Who cares for that?"

WILLIE

"On Charles's orders?"

A hesitation… NO

"Then, who is the master of the Stoddard mausoleum?"

SEARCHING…

Barnabas smiled… if what he hoped was true, he could finally question the computer freely.

THE STODDARD MAUSOLEUM IS THE PROPERTY OF VICTORIA REYES; SHE IS THE MASTER OF THAT STRUCTURE.

_Carolyn's daughter_, Barnabas thought, "I see… and this house… the 'Old House'… to whom does it belong?"

THE STRUCTURE ON THIS PROPERTY WAS BUILT BY CHARLES COLLINS… CONSTRUCTION WAS COMPLETED ON DECEMBER SIXTEENTH, IN THE YEAR TWO THOUSAND TWENTY-EIGHT…

"That is not what I asked, Computer…"

Another hesitation, longer this time… RECORDS INDICATE THAT THE PROPERTY FROM THE FORREST'S EDGE TO THE PEAK OF WIDDOW'S HILL, INCLUDING ALL STRUCTURES THEREON BELONG TO BARNABAS COLLINS AS OF APRIL THIRTIETH, IN THE YEAR NINETEEN HUNDRED SIXTY-SEVEN…

Exactly what Barnabas had hoped. When Elizabeth had died in 2001, she had left the entire estate to Barnabas. He had never gone through the formality of consolidating the properties once more… Charles Collins may have reconstructed the Old House, but he did not own the property or the House…

"I see…" Barnabas sat in the chair in the Drawing Room that so much reminded him of his own so many years ago, "Then, may I assume that you recognize me as the undisputed master of this estate?"

Barnabas could not be certain, but he could have sworn that the computer's next words were laced with… _Could it be?... Humor?_

YES, SIR, MR. BARNABAS… YOU ARE THE MASTER OF THIS HOUSE… HOW MAY I SERVE YOU?

"I have some questions…"

AWAITING QUERIES…

"Explain yourself!" Quentin grabbed Mr. Best by his nineteenth century shirt collar. The short, balding man appeared not the least bit surprised…

_I really shouldn't…_

"Talk to me!" Quentin pulled him closer.

"Alright! Alright!" Best gently pulled himself free from Quentin's grasp, brushing aristocratically at his rumpled shirt. "What do you wish to know!"

Quentin backed away, looking all around at the vast white nothingness that surrounded them. "Where am I!"

"Surely you must have figured that out by now?" Best finally looked somewhat incredulous.

"Hell! How! Why!"

"Not quite… the usual way… and surely you know why…"

Quentin slumped in frustrated aggravation. He was, indeed, far too old for such games… "Best… what is going on here?"

Mr. Best looked around as if expecting to see someone else pop up at any moment. "You are paying the piper, Mr. Collins."

"For what?"

"For removing your curse of immortality without returning your curse of lycanthropy."

"Blair?" Nicholas Blair, warlock supreme. Quentin had met him in Israel some time ago. He'd thought him some ordinary, run-of-the-mill warlock until his return to Collinwood on the death of Elizabeth. Obviously, Barnabas had had run-ins with him before…

"Yes, quite…" Mr. Best still looked all around.

"So, what? I 'sold my soul'? I don't recall doing that!"

"True… but you did promise to return the favor at some future time to be determined by Mr. Blair…"

"And?..."

"And… this is what he wants in return… to give you over to his master…"

"Who? The Devil?"

"Pish-posh, Mr. Collins! You think too much of yourself!" Mr. Best laughed.

"Then I don't get it…"

Best let out a heavy sigh, "Mr. Blair is far more than a 'warlock' as you put it. He is a Lower Being! He is one of the many henchmen of the Demi-Devil, Diabolos. Does the name sound familiar?"

"No… should it?"

"Oh, I should say so! Diabolos is very key to your life. He has had an interest in Collinwood and its denizens for centuries."

"Why?"

"Oh, who's to say, really… they're so touchy down here… anything could have set him off. Suffice it to say, he's had his eye on you in particular for some time. First he was denied your soul when you decided to stay at Collinwood after your death… then, when Barnabas Collins prevented that death, he lost you again to immortality. Finally, he lost you again when you and your cousin defeated the resurrected Petofi. It was only through Blair's deal that he could finally put his hand to you…"

"So… this _is _Hell…"

"Not quite… this is the realm of death… _my _realm."

"How did I end up here?"

"Everyone does… sooner or later…"

"Then you're…"

"A doorway to the afterlife, if you will. Before you can pass to your final destination, you must pass through _me_."

"Why have you kept me here? How long have I been here?"

Best brushed his pants and sat on an invisible chair, "I can keep you here as long as I wish… one of the perks of the job. I still remember the time you tried to save Ms. Harris from my realm. I respected your courage and devotion. Besides, so many have passed through here who have known you and spoken of your many good qualities…"

Quentin could not help but laugh…, "My 'good qualities'? Who?"

"Judith… Jamison… Nora… Magda… Daphne… Julia… Elizabeth… Angelique…"

"Angelique! She's passed through here?"

Mr. Best laughed, "Many times."

"Where is she now? Can I contact her?"

"Well… 'now' is a difficult concept, Mr. Collins."

"I don't understand…"

Best got serious, "To most humans, time is corporeal… they live… they die… they move on. Angelique is quite unique. Some entities never die… Blair… Petofi… etcetera. Others, like our dear Angelique… die and die again. To tell you 'where' she is, you would have to inform me as to 'when' you are referring."

"Now!... When I left… the year 2001…"

"Ah! At that point in time, she was quite dead; but, like you originally, she refused to leave the mortal plain. She then haunted the woods of Collinwood."

"Then?"

"Yes… _then_."

"And now?"

Best laughed again, "There you go again… there is no 'now' or 'then' here."

"Can I get back? Can I contact Angelique?"

At that, Best jumped to his feet and came very close to Quentin, he whispered as if there was someone close by to here what he said, "Finally, you get it! The answers to those questions are very closely related, Mr. Collins," he looked around again before continuing, "You can indeed 'get back'… and your only hope of doing so is through Angelique Collins!"


End file.
